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<title>The Victor Chooses The Course by 9_of_Clubs</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470583">The Victor Chooses The Course</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs'>9_of_Clubs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, PantherShield, an incredible ship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:55:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_of_Clubs/pseuds/9_of_Clubs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They laugh as they run, the pounding of the sun across their backs, their feet beating dust clouds into the warmed soil, as they cut swathes through the tall grasses that send birds fluttering angry into the sky. </p><p>Or </p><p>The only fair contest either Steve or T'Challa can run.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/T'Challa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Victor Chooses The Course</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">They laugh as they run, the pounding of the sun across their backs, their feet beating dust clouds into the warmed soil, as they cut swathes through the tall grasses that sendbirds fluttering angry into the sky.</p><p class="p3">It is a blessing, for a moment, to rest, though he remains in motion.</p><p class="p3">There aren’t many places where Steve feels at peace. Truly, he’s not a man of peace at all, too much fight in his blood, too much anger that pounds low, waiting to surge to life at the slightest provocation. There’s always something more that can be done, he knows, some new wrong that needs righting, and once he sees it, once the wrong has clung onto his heart, he can’t rest until he’s seen it crushed.</p><p class="p3">But here.</p><p class="p3">Here.</p><p class="p3">In the breaths between one fight and the next, something eases.</p><p class="p3">T’Challa is sleeker than he is, more fluid, less lumbering, but Steve is moved with a determination not to lose that only kisses the other man. They are both proud, they are both strong, but Steve is all stubbornness where T’Challa flows, there’s a goal, and the goal must be met, and if he doesn’t meet it, well…</p><p class="p3">They splash through a languid creek, its flow stemmed by the summer skies, burbling sleepy, and droplets of water mist through the air.</p><p class="p3">He turns a half glance back and T’Challa’s teeth flash white and broad at him as he surges forward. He’s lost there, for a moment, in the smile, and can’t help the way his lips rise in response, can’t help the answering curve of his mouth.</p><p class="p3">In distraction, he loses ground, and sets his gaze back to the path with a huff and a snap. </p><p class="p3">It’s a meandering path though, an unclear one, set only by the whims of whoever is in the lead.</p><p class="p3">He runs.</p><p class="p3">It’s different than running with anyone else, running with T’Challa. A challenge with no clear victor at its outset, the only other man as fast as he is, maybe, if Steve is honest, faster. So the ache of competition is loud in the spaces of his cells, in the thrumming of his heart, in the erratic pulse that pushes him from one step to the next. But there’s something else that happens here, that doesn’t happen anywhere else, an uproarious kind of joy that rises through him, an unfamiliar sort of ease in the way his cheeks push out and he tastes the easy sweetness in the air.</p><p class="p3">There is a challenge and a goal, but for once, there are no stakes.</p><p class="p3">Eventually, T’Challa catches him as he always does if he is behind, and Steve feels almost shy, for an instant, as arms wrap around him and the weight of body falls against him, firm, and strong, and steady, as solid as the land beneath his body.</p><p class="p3">When T’Challa kisses him, a kiss that is all-consuming, tinged with the salt of sweet and the headiness of the sun, his body burns, even as his fingers tangle into the necklace at the other’s throat, pulling him closer.</p><p class="p3">And finally.</p><p class="p3">Willingly.</p><p class="p3">He surrenders.</p><p class="p3">—</p><p class="p3">T’Challa kisses fire down the length of his chest, one searing brush of lips after another, their bodies pressing together. His fingers curve around Steve’s side, brush meaningless designs, soft along the outlines of his ribs.</p><p class="p3">Around them, the tall grass is soft and sweeps with the gentle, meandering breezes that drift by, uncaring of the two men tangled in their grasp. Below them, the earth is sun-baked and steady, thrumming with life. And T’Challa is the manifestation of all of it, of this land, of this place, of this peace.</p><p class="p3">He kisses Steve unrushed, in slow, lingering movements of lip and tongue, as though there is nowhere at all to be but here forever. As though there is nothing beyond this place that would disturb them. </p><p class="p3">Steve tries to press him forward, tries to hurry him along, but he only laughs, low and warm, and teases another kiss below his jaw, to his ear, across his collar bones.</p><p class="p3"><em>The victor chooses the course</em>, T’Challa hums in his ear, more vibration than sound, and Steve’s lips part in a half-gasp, tilting his head up, eyes finding the blue of the sky.</p><p class="p3">When T’Challa’s hands are finally at his waist, and he’s shifting along him, crawling back and down, their eyes meeting over the planes of Steve’s body, it is all Steve can do not to whine.</p><p class="p3">And then lips are along him, consuming him, swallowing him, and the only thing he can do is to let himself be led.</p><p class="p3">Pleasure is a rarity for him, the thrumming of pain more familiar, the constant ebb of anguish and fury, so when he senses it, the urge he follows is to chase it down, to get it within his grasp so he doesn’t lose it before its even begun. But there’s something different in the kindness of T’Challa’s touches, in the patient steadiness of his all too knowing smirk, as he toys with Steve, forces him to accept the steady build of desire in his veins, pauses to drift only the barest touch of lip and breath along his hardening skin before taking him into his mouth more fully and forcing a groan from his throat.</p><p class="p3">T’Challa forces him to accept there is nothing he can do but succumb, the only action is to take, to accept, to <em>enjoy.</em></p><p class="p3">There aren’t many places where Steve feels at peace. Truly, he’s not a man of peace at all, too much fight in his blood, too much anger that pounds low, but here, against the very fabric of his being, he lets go with a whine, his back arching, muscles clenching, mind a slate wiped empty with the movement of T’Challa’s throat.</p><p class="p3">Here, he gives in at last to the intoxicating pleasure of surrender.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
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